


Sometimes We Take Chances

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco knows he's right, I Will Go Down With This Ship, LeakyCon, M/M, They're not characters, They're real people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8595082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: In a world where the Harry Potter series was written to throw Muggles off the truth, Draco decides to attend LeakyCon, cosplaying as Draco Malfoy





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [OwlPost Fest on LJ](http://hd-owlpost.livejournal.com/) as a gift for Knowmefirst, who requests included "nerdy D/H".
> 
> A huge thank you to [Hils](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hils) and [KIzzywiggle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle) who were never too busy to answer a "Hey, I have a British question" question. And to [Crowgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl) whose style is impeccable.

“Mate, you nailed it! Your Draco Malfoy kicks arse!”

Draco stood in arrogant silence while the _Professor Snape_ in front of him babbled on about Draco’s perfect hair, the exact color of his eyes, and how, how, _how_ had he made the Slytherin crest on his robe so spot-on?

“—love how you’ve pegged Malfoy’s haughtiness.” Snape steepled his fingers as he sized Draco up. “You know, I don’t think Draco really was that arrogant. He was a product of an abusive family—” and Snape was off, dissecting Lucius and Narcissa as if they were simple characters, one dimensional criminals rather than his parents, with faults like all parents who loved him as best as they could.

Draco was done with these idiots. After spending an hour wandering LeakyCon and listening to poorly dressed Muggles swoon over his _perfect Malfoy_ , Draco no longer had any idea why he’d allowed Pansy to talk him into this.

 ~*~

_“It will be fun,” Pansy hadsaid. “Plus, we’ll win every prize. Who could look more Pansy than I?”_

_**Why not** , Draco had thought. It beat another boring Saturday afternoon alone, putting in unpaid overtime at Gringott’s, lost in stacks of overdue tax notices that he was pretty sure dated back to Helga Hufflepuff herself. So he’d dug his school trunk out from under piles of forgotten treasures in his room at the Manor; the trousers were too small to wear, but the jumper worked, even if it pulled across his shoulders and around his arms. The robe was a foot too short, but at least it was authentic._

_He had answered the door bell, expecting to see the old Pansy Parkinson, in her school jumper and tie wearing modest trousers._

_“Ta da!” She had said, tip-toe twirling in her sparkling Jimmy Choo’s and holding out her arms so that Draco could see every inch of her outfit._

_**Inch** being the operative word. She’d altered her robe into something too short to be called a dress and too clingy to ever pass a uniform inspection. _

_Draco wolf-whistled as she finished her spin. “You look fucking incredible. If I were straight, I'd take you right now.”_

_“I know.” Pansy had winked at him. “Maybe you'll meet someone nice today. Someone who will treat you like a prince, and then you can stop pining over stupid Potter.”_

_Draco had sputtered through a denial. “I'm not--I don't--pining!” He was horrified at even the word, but he knew that Pansy knew. It was never just a crush on Potter._

_“Yeah, right. Describe your last boyfriend. The one with the wild curly hair and the green eyes.”_

_Draco had pushed Pansy out the front door, trying to change the subject. “I forget, you cow. Now disapparate and we’ll meet in the lobby of the hotel.”_

~*~ 

Their synchronized pops went unnoticed as they apparated into a corner of the crowded hotel lobby. With a well-placed Confundus, they slid past the registration table, picking up totebags and name tags, and headed to the merch marketplace. They wandered table to table, whispering to each other as they pointed out the inaccurate wands, the incorrect House crests, the spell books with gibberish--words and wand movements that meant nothing. 

Draco laughed it off, but Pansy started her patented _What Did JK Rowling Do?!_ rant. “I mean, ever since that Ministry wonk came up with the idea to write The Chosen One’s autobiography and pass it off as _fiction_ —” Pansy flashed air quotes just as she did whenever anyone talked about the books. “Just because the Dark Lord was foolish enough to draw Muggle attention—”

A spectacularly stunning Tom Riddle (who for some reason had chosen to wear a Slytherin uniform that was several sizes too small, tight on his plush bottom and cross his well muscled chest) passed them and winked at Pansy, and she abandoned their conversation mid-sentence to take his arm. Licking his lips as he watch Riddle walk away, Draco turned to follow them and introduce himself to the cosplayer, but was unfortunately—very unfortunately—stopped by this Snape wannabe and lost both Pansy and Riddle in the growing crowd.

And the more that Snape spoke in enthusiastic, emotional run-on sentences, the shorter Draco’s patience became. And for Salazar’s sake, Snape never gushed.

“—only competition for best cosplay is the bloke who looks like Harry. Like, if the pictures in the book came to life, he couldn’t be more _Harry_. He’s incredible. Got the right glasses and the fucking scar looks real. I have no idea—”

Potter?

No. He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Draco’s anger bubbled up, harsh and fast, in a way it hadn’t done in the two years since he threw that drink in Harry’s face and stormed out of the Leaky. Harry had insisted that Draco had _wanted_ Harry to stop him in 6th year, _waited_ for Harry to stop him. That his attempts to kill Dumbledore had been amateurish and stupid (“Really, Malfoy. A poisoned necklace?”). Their relationship, still new and fragile, couldn’t withstand The Chosen One’s smug surety. Or a drink in the face.

And here he was once again, Draco was sure of it, being all “The Chosen One” and “Look at me!” In his mind, Draco air quoted the words because Potter’d always said that he never wanted to be the One. That he hated every minute of it. And here he was flaunting it, reveling in it. Seeking out the admiration of Muggles. Hypocrite.

“Where?” Draco said, cutting the Muggle short. “Stop rambling and tell me where Potter is.”

Snape’s held his palms up and leaned toward Draco, which Draco assumed was meant to be threatening. “Listen, mate. You’re taking this Malfoy thing too seriously. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

Draco’s fingers itched to grab his wand, slash this idiot with a _Full Body-Bind_. But he wasn’t stupid. He was here on a lark, not to create a Magical Incident.

“You're right. I apologize.” Draco choked on the words, but Snape relaxed and smiled again, and that was the point. “Where do you think I might find this perfect Potter?”

Armed with directions, Draco headed toward Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop (aka, the tea trolley outside the merch marketplace). There, in the middle of a throng of hangers on, stood Potter. Not some clever cosplayer, but the actual, proper Potter. The dimple in his left cheek when he grinned. The way he smiled with his entire body. Something low and dull flared up, engulfing Draco in its heat. It was anger, nothing more.

“Potter,” Draco called out over the hum of conversation swirling around them in the tight corridor.

The gasps didn’t surprise Draco as much as the still silence. As if the people around them expected hexes to fly once Potter saw him. They parted to either side of the hallway leaving a clear line between him and Potter, who grinned cheekily, as if he were happy to see Draco. “Malfoy!”

“I see you’ve decided to stop skulking around. Show your face again in public.” Oh no. Potter didn’t get a pass on his behavior. Not from Draco Lucius Malfoy.

But Harry just looked confused. He cocked his head and said, “You’re taking this _Malfoy_ thing a bit seriously.”

That caught Draco off guard. He was _not_ taking the Malfoy thing too seriously. He _was_ Malfoy! Draco pushed closer. “What are you doing here, Potter?”

Potter’s grin didn’t falter even as the crowd around them sensed the mood change. “Um, it’s a Harry Potter con. And you do know that’s not my real name, right?”

“Yes it is. You’re Harry Potter and I’m Draco Malfoy.”

The other man laughed. “No. I’m David T. Forsby.”

“You’re _David T. Forsby_ ,” Draco asked, incredulous that he would choose an alias with such obvious initials.

For the first time, Forsby’s smile faltered and he tried to step away, but backed into a wall. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

“You’re _DTF_?”

A few people around them laughed.

Frustrated, Draco tried again. “You’re _Down To Fuck_?”

David’s grin brightened. “Well, I’m not some shy virgin, but…”

“Listen, Potter.” Draco’s fingernails bit into the flesh of his palm as he tried not to punch this obnoxious arse.

“Again. Not Potter. Forsby. David if you’re my friend. And you are?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“No, you’re not,” Forsby laughed as his eyes raked over Draco. “Draco Malfoy would _never_ be at something so Muggle as a fandom convention.”

Draco felt undressed by the intensity of Forsby’s attention, by the barely contained heat in his eyes. Unconsciously, Draco pulled at the shirt placket, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles.

“No. Not Malfoy. And especially not in clothes that are way too small. The books say he’s a clothes snob, only the finest, tailored clothes.”

“These _are_ tailor-made in _Paris!_ ” Draco corrected Forsby, angrily. “And you--”

Was Draco wrong? Because Forsby had replaced Potter’s oversized, ill-fitting uniforms with clothes that highlighted his muscles. Really large muscles. He couldn’t focus on that now. Draco had to get Forsby to admit the truth. “And what are _you_ doing at a Harry Potter convention? Huh?”

The other cosplayers lost interest and strayed away as the merch marketplace opened. Draco looked at the last few who left. Now he’d have to stop posturing and just admit to being Harry freaking Potter.

“I’m here to meet new people. And it seems, according to everyone, that I’ll win the cosplay competition. Even my scar is perfect.” Although he sounded gleeful, Forsby rubbed the scar gently, as if he were a little afraid. Draco’d seen Potter make the exact same gesture for six years.

“Why won’t you just admit you’re Potter?”

“Because I’m not.” Although Forsby’s smile hadn’t faded, he edged away.

Draco grabbed his wrist, not willing to let him leave. “I can prove you’re the real Harry.”

“Really? And how is that?”

“Potter has a freckle on the underside of his dick and a heart-shaped birthmark on his arse,” Draco said, triumphantly. Game, set and match. He watched Forsby closely to see his reaction. Did he blink too rapidly for a moment?

Forsby’s grin grew slowly. “Now _that_ wasn’t in any of the books. You just made that up.”

Draco stuttered at the accusation. “I did not!”

“Of course you did. I think you just want to see my dick.” Forsby winked at Draco.

Draco felt the embarrassment rise up his face. “I didn’t make it up. And you’re a pervert!”

“Well, there’s no way you could know something like that. Or prove it.” Forsby crossed his arms over his chest and smirked.

“Yes! I can! That day of the Quidditch match, when the Slytherin showers weren’t working and no one could figure out why, and we had to share the Gryffindor showers. And you stood there, naked and dripping wet, doing nothing with your towel, showing off proud as a peacock. The freckle is on the underside right near the head. The heart birthmark is on your left arse cheek.”

“You just _happened_ to see it.”

Draco ears burned in embarrassment. “I’d had to have been blind to miss it. And you were--” Draco waved his hands toward David’s crotch. “Something clearly... excited you.”

“Still. Not me. And I’m supposed to believe a Peeping Tom?”

Draco grabbed David’s hand and jerked him toward the hallway.

“Where are you dragging me?”

“To the loo.” Duh.

“You should know I really don’t put out on the first date,” David laughed as Draco dragged him down the corridor. Forsby kept pace easily, less dragging and more walking hand-in-hand if Draco were being honest.

“This isn’t about putting out, you knob. This is about me being right because you _are_ Harry Potter. And when I'm right you'll have to admit it.” Draco stopped himself from adding the _ha!_ that so obviously belonged there. Draco pushed open the door to the unisex loo and locked the door behind them.

David leaned back against the sink and casually tucked his hand into his pockets, looking completely unbothered by any of this. He smiled broadly. “You’re mad. You do know that.”

“I’m not mad. I’m right. And I hate that smirk you get when you think I'm wrong.”

“The smirk I get?” David raised his eyebrow and smirked harder.

“For fuck’s sake, Potter. Drop the act now. We’re alone, and you’re not fooling me.”

David smiled peacefully and didn’t speak, which infuriated Draco even more.

Draco stormed over and grabbed David’s jeans by the front belt loops. His palm inadvertently pressed against the flies, and he felt David’s cock, hard and straining the fabric of the worn jeans.

Unashamed, David shrugged and grinned. “What can I say. Apparently I have a force kink.”

Draco squeaked and did not think about _kink_ \+ _Potter_.

“Just so we’re clear,” David began. “You're going to rip my trousers off me so you can prove I’m who you say I am. I'm good with that. But what do I get out of it?”

When David put it like that, Draco felt like a bit of a nutter. It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to rip the trousers off. But he had something to prove, dammit.

“No, don’t stop. You have something to prove.” David reached for Draco’s hand and brought it back to the belt loops near the flies. “But, what if you’re wrong, and I’m actually David T. Forsby? That will be pretty embarrassing.”

Draco’s thoughts were jumbled. Forsby seemed so damn smug and certain he wasn’t Potter. Also, Forsby’s hand was pressing against his, and it was distracting, trying to ignore the hard cock beneath his palm.

“If I’m wrong, I’ll--I’ll suck you off. Right here.” Well. Draco hadn’t meant to say that. But it was no big deal, because he was right. And definitely wouldn’t have to blow a stranger.

He ignored the little voice in the back of his mind that called him a _fucking idiot_.

Forsby gave Draco’s hand a small squeeze before he ruffled Draco’s hair, which really should have sent Draco over the edge. “Sweet. Okay. I’m good with that.” Forsby laced his fingers behind his head and slouched back against the sinks again.

Without thought for his tailored trousers, Draco slid to his knees. He unzipped the jeans. Damn, Forsby wasn’t wearing pants. Which Draco thought was convenient (and definitely not provocative). He swallowed hard as he slipped his fingers into the tight space between the denim and Forsby’s hard cock, which he slid out of the jeans.

One freckle. Just below the retracted foreskin.

“Ha! I told you!” Draco dragged his pointer finger over the freckle. And back up again.

“Lots of people have freckles.” Forsby cleared his throat, but his voice was higher than it had been.

Spurred on by his discovery, Draco stood and grabbed Forsby by the hips and whisked him around in one smooth motion. Draco bent him over the sink and yanked the open jeans down over Forsby’s nice (Draco grudgingly admitted) arse.

There.

In its glory.

Three perfectly-placed freckles that created a heart. It was the size of Draco’s thumbnail and stood out, brown against the pale skin.

Draco slapped Potter’s bare arse as he crowed in victory. “I TOLD YOU!”

“Oh my goodness.” Harry covered his mouth with his fingers and pretended to gasp. “I guess I’m _not_ David T. Forsby.”

“I _knew_ it.” Draco punched the air. “Only the Savior of All Wizard Kind would be pretentious enough to pose as himself at a Muggle convention.”

Too late, Draco realized how ridiculous his statement was. He blew past his own stupidity and asked, “What do I get because I was right?”

“You can buy me dinner and tell me all about you, _Draco_.” Potter emphasized the word, adding air quotes and a raised eyebrow.

“I win, and I have to buy you dinner? You just may be Potter with bollocks like that. Wait. No air quotes. I _am_ Draco Malfoy.

“On your knees, in a loo, with a cock in your face? Offering to suck off a stranger? Not bloody likely.”

“Fuck’s sake, Potter, you were always the most infuriating person I ever met. Just—ask me something only Draco Malfoy would know.”

“Can't I just get a BJ instead?”

“No.”

“What if I describe _your_ penis?” Harry asked, hiding his smile. He tucked himself back into his jeans but didn’t bother to zip the flies.

Draco huffed impatiently. Potter had already won. Why was he dragging this out. “No. Mine is unremarkable.”

The grin returned full strength. “Oh, I bet it's absolutely remarkable,” Harry said, leering. He laughed and offered Draco a hand to help him stand up, but Draco slapped it away.

“Shut it. You've never seen my dick.” 

“Oh, I wasn't in the Gryffindor locker room when the Slytherin shower broke?” The smirk was back.

Draco rolled his eyes and motioned for Harry to just go ahead already. It seemed faster to let him blather on than to try and stop him.

“It’s a lovely shade of pink. Long. What it lacks in girth it more than makes up for in length.” Harry tapped his chin as he pretended to think. “And a foreskin.”

Draco laughed openly at Harry. “You just described every Caucasian penis in England, you git.”

“Am I wrong?” Potter feigned innocence. “Because I think you should show me and prove it.”

“What? No!”

“But you saw mine. Doesn’t seem quite fair if you think about it.”

Still on his knees, Draco leaned back and looked up at Harry, whose wide smile was stupid and toothy and so damn goofy, and it didn’t make Draco’s heart flip or want to snog him until they both forgot this conversation.

“So. _Malfoy_.”

Draco growled at the way Potter said Malfoy. Like he didn’t believe one single letter of it. “Just ask me something only I would know.”

Harry thought before speaking. He pulled his jeans up and pushed himself inside before carefully zipping them. Then he offered his hand to Draco, who accepted the help this time. Harry didn’t let go, just laced their fingers together and gently squeezed. What was Potter up to now, holding hands like Draco was special. Like they were something.

“I can’t ask about knowing where you were every minute at Hogwarts. Or watching you in the Great Hall. Wondering what you were doing.” Harry looked at Draco’s shirt collar, at the Slytherin crest on the robe, but not in Draco’s eyes. He brushed at an invisible fleck of lint on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco listened. He’d known Potter tracked him, followed him, but that was spying; that was for the stupid Order. It wasn’t personal, like he was interested in Draco.

Draco felt off balance, even less in control than he had been earlier. He tipped Harry’s chin, looking for an answer somewhere on that open, honest face. Draco wasn’t expecting the open tenderness he saw in Harry’s eyes or the soft, tentative smile.

“What are you on about, Potter?” Draco asked, quiet and without the heat of the other thousand times he’d said those words.

“Do you know how many times at Hogwarts Ron threatened to hex my tongue if I didn't stop talking about you? No. You can’t know that. Ok. Do you know the greatest thing I've ever done in my life?”

“Defeating the Dark Lord?” Every Wizard and Witch knew that. 

Harry’s voice was so quiet that Draco strained to hear. “It was saving you from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.”

For a moment, Draco felt the flames biting his ankles, his arms clutching Harry’s waist as they flew through Hell and out the door to safety. He’d lived that moment a thousand times in his nightmares, but never doubted Harry would get them through. He relaxed his free hand that had somehow become a fist, and he replayed what Harry had said.

“You said saving me. You believe that I'm Draco?” He didn’t know which to focus on, that he’d convinced Harry or the crazy part about saving him being the greatest thing Harry had ever done. 

Harry bit his lip before he spoke. “I knew the instant you entered the hallway today. I spent six years watching you stalk down corridors, reaching for your wand. I just wanted to keep you here talking. Plus, watching you try to prove it was brilliant.”

There was the Potter he knew and hated. Liked. One of the two. He’d have to figure that out. 

“Why did you come here today?” Draco asked, hoping the answer might be close to his. That Harry might have been hoping to find something interesting. Something more than, y’know, late nights drowning in paperwork. 

Harry’s cheeks pinked, but he didn’t look away from Draco. “I couldn’t find you to apologize for being an arse, and I thought maybe, if I found someone who looked like you, it would--”

Draco kissed Harry. Not a gentle and hesitant romantic kiss, but with heat and need and fury and regret for things not said and for not being older and wiser in that pub . He kissed Harry the way he wished he’d done years ago at Hogwarts. Hard and deep, slipping his hand to the nape of Harry’s neck. He grabbed a few curls and pulled.

And the sound Harry made, it was obscene. And perfect. 

When they broke for air,i Draco caught his breath before he spoke. “I may have missed you.” Harry framed Draco’s face with his hands and kissed him, this time gentle and slow. Taking his time.

A knock on the loo door broke the mood. Draco laughed and tried to make himself presentable, tucking his shirt into his trousers and pressing down on Harry’s curls, wild and out of place from Draco’s fingers. 

“Tell you what, Potter. Let's hold hands and walk around this convention and stop for photos and kiss if we want to and let's make _Harry and Draco_ (Now _he_ was using air quotes) do what everyone thought Rowling should have done in those ridiculous books.” 

He took Harry’s hand, lacing their fingers as if they’d always been together. When they opened the loo door, two Muggle girls squealed and shouted, “You ship it!”

Draco nodded and then tugged Harry’s tie, until he could kiss him. A small peck, but enough to make the girls squee again. “Yeah, I ship it. I ship it hard.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the FallOut Boy song "Hum Hallelujah"


End file.
